


Where do you think you’re going? Please....

by spoopyJISHUA



Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: 2020, Abuse, Asset, Bound, Cancer, Collar, Day 5, Day 6, Dogs, Drug Use, Failed escape, Hospitals, Hurt, Hurt Peter, Hydra, Hydra Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Malnutrition, Non-Consensual Drug Use, On the Run, Pain, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Please..., Precious Peter Parker, Rescue, Torture, Whipping, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2020, Whumptober Day 5, Whumptober Day 6, gagged, get it out, hydra kidnapped peter parker, no more, restrained, stop please, where do you think you’re going, whip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoopyJISHUA/pseuds/spoopyJISHUA
Summary: I don’t 6 hours writing this today I wanted it to be the best one so far I hope i did that. I have gifted this work to Peachlin as they gave me some good constructive criticism day 5 and 6 combined
Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949470
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20
Collections: Whumptober, Whumptober 2020





	Where do you think you’re going? Please....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peachlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peachlin/gifts).



Peter was freezing, lying nestled into the unforgiving solid floor. His cell was totally unfilled and not large enough for peter to get up and make a couple of steps. The sentiment of claustrophobia and suffocation was overpowering, joined with the murkiness and the virus was sufficient to make him crazy. He was given food once in a couple of days; however, it was so sickening it could barely go for one. He was continually parched, in light of the fact that the water was being given to him alongside the food, each a few days which was not almost enough. To aggravate it even, the watchmen who brought him water caused him to ask for it and in the event that he rejected they spilled it in before his cell, chuckling at his despicable endeavours to arrive at it and left only him.

Peter could not stand the asking. He abhorred it much more than the steady physical maltreatment, however his captors savoured it. He let himself know from the earliest starting point that he would not beseech them or approach them for anything, since that will cause him to appear to be feeble and all the more significantly to feel powerless. He was difficult and decided so every time he was enticed to beseech them to quit harming him or let him return home he would grasp his teeth, crush his eyes and consider something different and block reality. It worked it the asking, when his soul was yet solid and the expectation that he will leave alive. However, as time passed by Peter thought that it was increasingly hard to clutch that trust. 

A sound of boots hitting the ground attracted Peter to the real world. He attempted to hurry further away from the cell entryway and into the divider behind him. They planned to torment him again and he was unable to take care of business, the powerlessness of the circumstance carrying tears to his eyes. "No, I'm not going to cry before them " Peter pondered internally and pressed his eyes shut. He balled his clench hands firmly, attempting to prevent himself from shaking. He heard the strides halting to a stop before the cell and the boisterous thump of metal hitting metal shocked him up and constrained his eyes open.

Three men entered his cell and one of them promptly began kicking the lying man on the ground. Peter was attempting to cover himself from the fierce blows, yet he did not have an opportunity. He could feel blood trickling out of his nose and mouth, torment parting his ribs. A hand snatched his hair and yanked hard until Peter was on his knees. His hands were being curved despite his good faith horrendously, a tick of a lock revealing to him he is being bound. He was gasping hard, attempting to recover however he was not given the opportunity. Something cold and metal was being bolted around his throat, its heaviness nearly chocking him. The metal collar adorning his neck was connected to a chain and he was presently being hauled out of his cell and into the hallway.

. Peter was hauled to the focal point of something that resembled a hospital room with a metal bed in the centre. Agents were gathering there, clearly anticipating that him should be fastened to the metal table for God comprehends what curved reasons. The end of his chain was tied around a post and he was constrained down to his knees by an unforgiving hit to the shins. Peter kept the snort of agony bolted behind his teeth. He was not going to give them the fulfilment of seeing him feeble, not yet. His nervousness developed to an ever-increasing extent, alongside the horde of individuals gathering around him until the commotion was suffocating him. A few people were snatching his hair and pulling it cruel. Others were insulting him or hitting him, shouting in language he scarcely comprehended. He was not going to cry before everybody. He was not. He would not like to let them perceive how frightened he was, the means by which alarming the entire circumstance was. However, the tears were gathering behind his shut eyelids, taking steps to sell out him.

Before he understood what happening a tall menacing figure approached the right side oh his bed. Before promptly crouching down and whispering “this is the time. You will be given cancer I hope your excited this is going to be painful. You will feel it grow and infiltrate your body we made a drug that speeds up the process.”  
The tall man strode across the room to a stainless table and lifted a large syringe about 15cm filled with a black translucent liquid that was being heled in place by the glass walls. “ are you looking forward to this peter cause I sure am, I want top see the agony you are going to go through I want to see you gradually brake but before it completes we will pull you back up only to hit you harder the next time. And I will do it again and again until you are nothing but a slave to me and for hydra”

Peter visible gulped but refusing to show any more emotion he purposely looked in the opposite direction before promptly trying to count in his head to try and keep his sanity from slipping away from him like a wet bar of soap in the shower. He wanted to retain all his memory’s. Like when may tried to cook her own larb but failed miserably, that was a funny night they eventually just ordered Thai anyway. Or the time when he and ned won there first science fair together with there project of creating an AI for the disabled people who would need it most. However, he would not mind losing a few memory’s either, he wants to forget the bullet hole he saw, he saw the person around it. he saw the pain in the one still living and the potential of those who lay cold in silent greyness. he saw the perfect skin, the arms that the mouth that had known laughter. he saw his dead uncle. He felt the grief of May and the fracturing echo of the universe. That was not his only traumatic though. I bet you are thinking what could possibly get worse than that. Well the thing is…... he got raped by his own friend, babby sitter and brother figure he never wanted it, but he thought he deserved it after what happened to ben.

Peter was snapped out his spiralling thoughts by the sound of boots hitting the floor and getting closer to him. Snapping his head to the side he looked directly into the man’s eyes His eyes were giving a glare that was freezing Peter’s bones, like being nude in the middle of a hailstorm, where every chunk of ice was a frosted dagger cutting into his skin. Glancing away he broke the eye contacted but he was promptly grabbed by the chin with the mans rough callused hands. “when I speak to your asset you will listen ton me” peter shuck his head viscously and sat up with as much force as he could.

To his surprise he found he broke his hand bonds seizing the opportunity he punched the man in the face and kicked his legs forward snapping the chains that were keeping him to the table. Still seeing everyone in the room he ran. 

And he ran he charged through the doors, his bear feet pounding against the polished concreate floor sending jolts of pain up his legs that had not fully healed. he made a sharp turn round the corner. Skidding to a holt when he saw the guards making an impulsive decision he begun to clime up the walls but the metal bar was making it hard so he left himself more vulnerable he just ran strait up them trying to find the chip that had the pesticides within it,. Unable to find it, he continued running he then saw a window taking his chance he launched himself through it.  
And he ran, like the winter breeze colliding into inanimate objects and crashing waves hitting the shoreline. Like eagles soaring across indigo skies and a herd of cheetahs racing through verdant meadows. His long, brown coloured locks whipped back and forth behind him like a fiery tale as he flung himself over sharp rocks and heavy tree trunks. He did not know where he was nor did he know where he was heading. He had no idea what time it was, and he had no clue what day. All he knew was he had to keep running forward. Not stopping for anything.

Thinking he got away he slumped to the ground on the verge of passing out his eyes begun to gloss over as he felt drowsiness overtake him.

Peter's exposed knees were scratching agonizingly on the harsh stone ground, the skin effectively crude and dried out from the constant kneeling as he attempted to locate a less excruciating approach to hold his own load up. It was generally dread that shielded him from losing his posture , the agonizing consume of muscles and joints shouting at him to quit kneeling and simply rest!! , however the noisy split of a whip behind him re-filled the dread of discipline and constrained him to keep his bowing situation on the grimy ground. It unquestionably did not help that his hands were bound awkwardly despite his good faith, driving his spine in an orderly fashion, the iron wire slitting into his effectively crude wrists. His breath was quick and shallow, dread overwhelming each other sense in his body. He had been whipped savagely every time he moved on the ground unintentionally, lost his equalization or nodded off because of sheer agony. 

Peter could feel the agent behind him move, surrounding him gradually, similar to a hunter. His movements were peaceful and exact, compromising and unnerving simultaneously. He brushed the whip's tail in the middle of Peter's shoulder bones, where two profound welts were denoting his skin. The bound man shivered and shook more enthusiastically than a second back, crushing his eyes shut. The man behind him continued playing with him, sliding the tail along his back, aggravating the wounded and incidentally bloodied skin. Peter realized it was a stunt to cause him to lose his parity and make a move, so the watchman could rebuff him by striking and breaking his skin with the unforgiving whip. 

Notwithstanding his earnest attempts to remain still and coarseness his teeth through the agony in his sensitive muscles, the absence of rest was something he was vulnerable against. His mind would simply stop, regardless of whether it was only for a couple of moments it was sufficient to cause his muscles to unwind and lose his stance on his knees. That brought about a horrifying beating meeting with the whip, that made Peter shout and overlap in on himself. 

There was no place to cover up, no real way to shield himself from the unforgiving beating and Peter felt so vulnerable and uncovered it was making him distraught. 

Peter's entire body was shaking from both the cold on his revealed skin and the blood freezing dread. He completely abhorred himself for making his dread so evident for his captors to see, yet regardless of how hard he gritted his teeth or gripped his clench hands he was unable to prevent the quakes from shaking his body. Demonstrating shortcoming was something Peter abhorred the most and not on the grounds that he was glad or had a favourable opinion of himself, but since the disgrace that it brought was more awful than any physical discipline. Furthermore, the individuals who kept him prisoner must have realized that, in light of the fact that they discovered better approaches to mortify him again and again. 

Like the time he was made to crawl on the floor like a canine, being pulled by a chain joined to the hefty metal restraint on his neck. On the off chance that that was not terrible enough they likewise put a gag over his mouth and nose, driving him to wear it constantly, while they hauled him around the foundation for everybody to chuckle. He was then brought to where all the genuine canines dozed and eaten and left him there. The canines were rough and merciless, yapping at him and gnawing at whatever point he moved from his spot and into their region. He needed to eat their food and drink from their water, however that was practically incomprehensible since the canines battled violently whoever approached their dishes. For quite a long time Peter just drank water at whatever point the canines were not anywhere near or were not focusing and ate as uncommon as more than once per week, scarcely enough to keep him alive. He rested on the exposed ground, encircled by pee and squander and went through his days toward the edge of the lair, scared that the canines will choose to assault him and destroy him. Although the additional time he spent there, the all the more engaging that idea sounded, which was likewise frightening. Those couple of weeks with the canines were the most exceedingly awful in his entire life and if he needed to pick among biting the dust and returning there, he would pick demise, without a doubt. 

Peter must have gotten excessively made up for lost time in his contemplations in light of the fact that the following second he felt the burning agony of a whip slamming into skin and shouted out from both astonishment and torment. Another split repeated through the room and new white-hot torment bound through his previously wounded right shoulder. He drooped forward, his bound hands stressing agonizingly behind him as he nestled into himself, in endeavour to secure whatever he could. Another whiplash landed straight on his back, opening a profound injury. 

" GET UP “the watch thundered and continued hitting his shoulders and back, over-burdening his faculties with anguishing torment that multiplied with each hit that followed. 

Peter had a large portion of a psyche to propel himself up starting from the earliest stage recapture the stooping position, knees bleeding, entire body shaking with dread and agony. He was crying now, something else the hero totally hated doing before individuals, however with the distress too extraordinary to even consider standing he was unable to support himself. His breath was coming out worn out and cut off by quiet cries, head bowed down and reluctant to look at his torturer without flinching. 

" You heroes think you so great huh? " The agent was said with a dehumanising tone " You act contact and like you not terrified of a damn thing" his intonation was horrible, not that it made a difference to Peter at the present time. " Why are you crying now huh? Are you scared? " the man ran the tail of the whip over Peter's face, who winced away and earned a hard slap to his cheek. Another followed, more grounded this time and sent Peter to the cold earth, arriving on his left side. 

Tumbling down implied that he broke his bowing position, which was trailed by all the more whipping everywhere on his uncovered left side, handling the whip on his hip, ribs, arm and face. The agent was shouting something at him, Peter was too far gone to comprehend human discourse. 

It was excessively, the agony was consuming him alive and he was shouting as noisy as possible, shouts blended in with cries and muddled words. He was asking and it was so mortifying and felt so off-base, yet he could not, he was unable to take it he was unable to take it he was unable to take it …. 

Hands were snatching him, attempting to pull him up starting from the earliest stage choking out him with dread. 

"please don't. please do not…., “no more" he was crying as the hands continued pulling him, attempting to uncurl him from his situation on the ground. He needed to vanish, to be gone, to be dead …

When he next woke up he found himself strapped to the same table but this time with stronger enforcements before he could let alone take a breath the needle was pressed into the back of the collar so it could make its way through peters abused body.

“it’s a grade 3 blood cancer peter and by my reckoning this should only take around an hour, the effects will not be pleasant, but the affects will be worth it”  
Peter was panicking he felt the liquid crawl through his blood stream and start expanding. Before long he begun to feel chest pain. The pain has an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at his stomach. There's nausea too, just enough to make him hold onto the table for support and breath slowly. he often prized himself in ignoring pain and just rocking on regardless, but that just is not possible right now. It owns him, dominates every thought, controls every action.

Then begun the fever and chills. A delicious shiver ran down his spine, like a bolt of electricity. Thin lips curved into a sly smirk and equally thin eyes crinkled at the edges. The pupils of the strange man constricted and widened to the extent that white sclerae surrounded the ice-cold blue irises.

It continued over the next hour. By the end of it Peter was a mess, with vomit down his front and blood leaking out his mouth. His voice was rasping. “make it stop, I don’t want to do this anymore, please kill me, make it stop” with each couple of words peter was becoming more and more frantic

“I’m afraid we cant do that asset now we will inject the mutation serum” the man approached peter with a syringe yet again but this time it was a thick brownish colour that instead of being injected of the collar. It needed to be injected to the base of his skull. “be a good asset and lift your head for me asset I need to inject you with this” peter no longer saw the point in arguing and complied he lifted his head up and felt the needle sink into his neck


End file.
